Cold dark eyes stare at her. They're drowning her in their hatred, pulling her under, deeper and deeper. She opens her mouth to scream and the water rushes in, filling every little crack in her body until there is nothing but the hate.
She pushes the memory away most of the time; she's afraid of it because there are times where she can't distinguish whether the fury belongs to the raven-haired monster, or to her own self.
The memory comes for a moment right as the crown touches her head. She's smiling so big and her cheeks are flushed as the whole kingdom cheers for her. The maid no one noticed who was nearly executed and later banished. They are cheering for her! Yet for a second it is shattered and replaced with a vision of blood red lips curving up in another sinister smile.
She belongs on the thrown; she knows that. She can finally make the changes she has so desired for so many years. She can speak up in council without apologizing.
She'd be lying if she didn't admit to loving the adoration. At times it is too much, and she wishes she could disappear back into the folds of the curtains, but it's worth it for the voice she now has.
It's worth it, being able to share soft kisses in the day's light and the pressure of his hand on hers as they stroll through the town. He's worth so much more.
"But she was born for it," the voice in the back of her mind whispers. Her voice, the one she listened to for years and continued to believe long after the prince claimed it was her he actually wanted. She still believes it, and she hates it.
Memories can't be erased, but sometimes she believes she'd even accept sorcery on the chance that they could be.
"You're just a memory, nothing more," she scolds the woman who reflects back at her from the mirrors and around the corridors. But it's not just that. The woman out there stalking the forest despite her pale skin and dark hair isn't real either, she's nothing more than a dark memory of who she used to be.
A young girl newly blossomed into the apple of the court's eyes runs through the corridors, her black hair flowing behind her, as she lifts up her the yards of vibrant green fabric wrapped around her legs.
She's giggling and dragging the usually nervous girl behind her, and the girl is finally smiling as well.
"I learned strength from you," she thinks. "Little girls had mothers, I had you." But this little vivacious girl didn't have a mother either, she just knew instinctively how to smile and tilt her head just so to get what she wanted. She was enthralling.
So many years have come and gone, but they're not enough. They'll never be enough.
"Go away!" she snaps at the memories.
They don't listen.
The newer memories collide with the old ones, until they are all the same. The twelve year old is no longer hugging her, but instead staring her down with golden eyes from a tall horse, whispering words that twist and wrap around her cutting her off from the world.
Running. So much running. She's running from this monster her once dearest friend has become. She's running to stay alive aware of the other animals in the forest and the danger from one arrow.
Then it's running through a field laughing, flowers in her hair as they twirl around, spinning in circles until they are so dizzy they fall over.
Her mind can't connect the two people: the passionate, strong girl and the angry, violent woman. But there was another one in between, the one who was so afraid all the time and woke in the night screaming and shouting for help from anyone.
"I was there for you!" she wants to shout. "Why did you turn from me?"
It's not what you did, it's what you're destined to do. The words are so clear in her mind, she could have just heard them. I'm sorry Gwen, but I can never let that happen.
She'd cling to that sorry for a moment if it weren't tarnished by the sword aimed at her throat (the witch had always been the better fighter, she'd never had a chance).
"Well here I am," she thinks with satisfaction as she sits regally on the velvet throne that she pretends she's become accustomed to. "I've done just what you've feared."
"My Queen," A knight says coming to kneel in front of her.
She situates the red velvet fabric of her dress around her, lifting her chin ever so slightly, a near perfect imitation of the woman she once knew.
But it is an imitation though; it will never be anything more.
Miles away the dark memory lifts her chin up in defiance, as she lounges regally on the hard stone throne she's conquered, allowing fabric from her shredded black dress to pile around her.
"My Queen," the hooded druid says, kneeling on the floor.
The queens pause a moment, resting their hands possessively on their thrones while eyeing their subject's face. Each shrouded in their cloaks of power, an invisible crown resting on their heads.
Her lips curve up, and she smiles.
I am the true Queen.
Author's Note: Hey everyone! So sorry I haven't updated Camelot's Princess, but I promise I'm working on it. After seeing 5.01 though I got really inspired and had to sit down and write this. Thanks to the lovely Becca for being my beta :)As always PLEASE REVIEW! (every time you do someone knocks a little more sense back into the Merlin writers heads)